These Moments are Infinite
by Jayelyyn
Summary: The war with Gaea was brewing, and I couldn't help but wonder what the point of it all was. Wouldn't the world end either way? But she...the most stunning person I had ever met...gave me something to fight for.


**Author's note: This is a very short, meaningful oneshot that I wrote at three in the morning. Nobody knows who the narrator is. Assume what you want.**

TTTT

Some people would say that the end of the world is inevitable.

And maybe it is, but who would really know? The end of the world could only be predicted, not comprehended. If anyone _really_ knew how the world would end, or if even it would at all, we wouldn't be enjoying ourselves the way we do. We'd all be going mad, trying to come up with a way to try and stop it.

I don't remember a time when I expected to actually have a future. It might have been kind of sad, but that was just my life, as a demigod, and demigods usually learn to accept it pretty quickly. We can fight it all we want, and we can train for days on end, and we can create barriers that keep the uglies out, but one day, something will get the better of me, and I'll die for it.

In all honesty, I would rather do that than die of old age. Old age was undignified. Or maybe that was just my sixteen-year-old mind talking.

I used to think this way, all the time. I would be taken down by a monster, and I would only be a memory. But a war— _another_ war was brewing. And this one was so much bigger than the last.

Half of me felt that it was hopeless. The end of the world was coming—the end of the world was just a few days away. The end of the world would end at the same time as all of the humans living on it, all of the animals, all of the plants, all of the bacteria. Nothing would remain but the earth and her children. Gaea and her children would occupy the place, not giving a second thought to whatever they had just destroyed in order to get to where they were.

Humans were nuisances, in their eyes. They were tiny flies that bothered you when you were trying to eat your food. We, apparently, needed to be swatted in order for them to live in peace.

Another half of me knew that I wouldn't give up, no matter what. That half didn't really believe that we would actually lose this war—how could we? We were fighting, and we were determined. If we lost, _all_ was lost. Our homes, our cities, our buildings, our families, our friends, our _reasons to live_ would all be burned, if we lost. It seemed impossible. No such thing could ever happen, right? It was ridiculous.

And then, a tiny, infinitesimal part of me said, in the very back of my mind, _The world will end either way._

And if it wasn't Kronos, it was Gaea. And if it wasn't Gaea, then it was humans. Humans would slowly destroy the earth. Nothing would be left—not even a memory, because there would be nobody to hold it. And the Greek world wouldn't care, because, like I've said before, we were flies. And hey, what would change in the world without all the flies?

That infinitesimal part of me was the part I hated about myself the most. How could _any_ part of me—even if it was so small it was almost invisible—want to give up? How could I even _begin_ to think so negatively? I was a demigod—I shouldn't have thought about giving up. Demigods fought, whether it was for their own lives or for others'.

And that unwritten rule of being a demigod was more prominent than ever, now, because we were fighting for _everyone_.

This small part of my mind was always pushed to the side and stuffed in the back of my brain with all the other useless stuff I had learned in various places.

Everyone once in a while, though, it reared it's tiny head and wouldn't go away—like an itch that got worse the more you scratched it.

It was _her_ that made it—the small thing I call pessimism—go away for good.

I always noticed the small things—the way people changed when they grew up, the way some people would walk down stairs two feet at a time, the way some people would bite their lips when they were nervous, the way some people would repeatedly start staring off into space while you were trying to talk to them, the way some people wore baggy clothes because they were self-conscious.

 _She_ had so many small things to notice.

She blinked when she was nervous. She laughed when she was sad. She wrinkled her nose when it was cold. She tapped her feet—with a great amount of rhythm—when she was bored. She payed attention to the detail of...pretty much everything. She used the word "fine" too much. She wore make-up, though truly didn't care about what other people thought. She was hard on herself. She pressed her lips together when things got awkward. Her eyes pierced into yours when you looked at them—she could see through your own and into your soul.

Or maybe, that last part was only with me. It might have been selfish, but I hoped so.

She could lift any weight off of your shoulders and throw it someplace where nobody would have to carry it ever again.

On some nights, we would stare at the stars. They would wink at us from all those light years away, unwittingly forming constellations that humans used for comfort and guidance. We would stare at the stars, lying side-by-side in the grass.

On some days, we would sit on the beach and watch the waves crash against the shore and nip at our feet, before pulling themselves back again. The sand would stick to our skin, the smell would stay in our noses, and the sound of the ocean would plant itself in our minds. Yes, it was beautiful, but the ocean itself wasn't _really_ the best part.

On some mornings, we would sit and just..watch the people bustle about. People were really quite amusing, when you paid attention. We paid attention. We laughed at them, together. We laughed with them, together. We laughed at each other. We laughed with each other.

One some evenings, we would spar. She would attack, and I would defend myself, and then we'd switch it up. Neither of us would ever win. We knew each other too well for that. Either way, we still did it. Maybe it was just fun. I knew why _I_ liked it. It was another way to show how close we were—we could anticipate each other's moves, and this was the most obvious way to put it out there.

Sometimes, she would get up from her table to sit at mine, even though it was forbidden. Nobody said anything, not even she. She would only look at me. And I'd look at her.

Sometimes, she would help me with my skills—whether it be reading, writing, archery, swordplay, lessons in Greek monsters...everything. We'd sit together, closer than casual friends would, and we'd work. The work may have been dull, but _she,_ most definitely, was not.

A lot of the times, she'd kiss me because of something I said—it didn't matter if it sounded stupid, or poetic, or smart. If she thought it to mean something, she'd show it.

Some people would say that the end of the world is inevitable. I, personally, thought it was. These demigods rallied together and trained to fight it, but what was the point?

 _This_ was the point. Her. This girl could, no matter how cliché it sounded, light up a room the second she walked into it. She could brighten Tartarus if she wanted to. Not in any loud, vibrant way, but just with her presence.

So, yes, maybe the end of the world _is_ inevitable, but these moments were infinite— _they_ were something to fight for.


End file.
